


seven stitches

by sixtotenpotatoes (schiefergrau)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Coma, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Pining, Recovery, it's mostly the aftermath and a very short scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schiefergrau/pseuds/sixtotenpotatoes
Summary: The sharp smell in his nose turns to acid in his stomach, the rhythmic beeping into a countdown to the moment his head will explode. Blindly he searches for a hand he knows won't return his touch."You need to wake up," he whispers into Lovett's palm, "because I can't do this without you."OrThat one time an anon and I needed closure for a drabble prompt.





	seven stitches

**Author's Note:**

> If you know someone mentioned in this story or are mentioned yourself, please click away. This is a work of fiction about fictional characters who happen to share their names and faces with some real people.  
Please do not share this work with anyone outside of fandom spaces.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to instinctivelyindecisive, obsessivelymoody and tommyandthejons for beta reading, hand-holding, development help and for being great in general. <3

Tommy grinds his teeth through the last two repetitions before finally, finally putting down the weights. His muscles scream, but he knows it won't be long until he hits the exercise high he needs to get through this, until he feels better about himself than if he didn't do this.

A long stretched, "Hey," pulls him out of his thoughts. 

The voice is familiar, as is the sweaty, red face he glances up at. 

"Looking good there. Great work. Very impressive." The corner of his mouth twitches. "What are you doing after this?"

Tommy laughs. After all these years he's used to Lovett flirting. Most of the time. It's just one of those very rare moments that catches him off guard. "The plan was to drive directly to the office. Why?"

"I made the mistake of thinking jogging to and from the gym would be a fantastic idea. Now I realize it was a fantasy. Similar words, very different outcomes. In this case the most likely scenario would be me, crawling home on my knees and arriving in a couple of hours. In the meantime, Pundit will have already gnawed through the front door in furious fear for my life."

Tommy lifts his shirt in the middle of the story, wiping sweat from his eyes. When he looks back up he catches the tail end of the look Lovett gives him. 

“Show off,” he says, demonstratively rolling his eyes at Tommy.

“Weren’t you just about to ask me for a favor?” Tommy asks, unable to stop the grin on his face when he stretches his arms over his head and his shirt rides up just enough. “I’d try to be a bit nicer, if I’d wanted someone to give me a ride.”

Lovett’s eyes flicker to the exposed skin again, just for a brief second, but it’s enough to send a familiar thrill through Tommy’s body. Lovett’s reluctant appreciation of his looks never stopped being strangely flattering.

“Yeah, yeah. So, my poor dog is going to get lost in LA in desperate search of her owner — unless some guy who drove to the gym, with muscles as big as his heart, will save me and her from such a nightmare!"

"Allright,” Tommy says and stands up. “Let’s go. Do I get to exchange Pundit for you then, or am I stuck with the both of you?"

"You should know by now that you're stuck with me." Lovett shrugs. "If it took you this long to pick up on that I can't help you. I don't know if you've noticed, but we do own a company together. How much closer can we get?"

Tommy holds the door open for Lovett and nods. "You might have a point."

*

They're just two blocks away from Lovett's house when it happens. 

One moment Tommy is asking, "What do you think about the potential new sponsor?" and the next, his body is being pushed against the door with a force he can't comprehend. It's so loud, so fucking loud, screeching of metal and wheels on asphalt, glass breaking and someone—Lovett—screaming.

Then everything is quiet.

*

The ride to the hospital is like a bad dream. Lights flashing, sirens wailing, crossing one red light after the other. The world swims in front of Tommy's eyes. His left side throbs with pain but it's nothing compared to the tightness in his chest.

He has no idea how long it has been since they left the gym, no idea how long it's been since they were in the car wreck, no idea how long since he last heard Lovett's voice. There are flashes of memory, but nothing concrete, nothing he can hold onto. Thoughts are running through his mind like fine sand through fingers.

Somehow they arrive and it's like being pushed forwards through thick, white fog. Passing a receptionist, a nurse, and a doctor. Holding himself as still has he can for an x-ray. He gives out emergency contacts and asks for Lovett. Again and again. Getting stitches but no answers. He swallows the pills they give him and the tears that won't stop.

"F43.0, for now," he hears one say to another and doesn't know what they're talking about. He doesn't care. All he cares about is what happened to Lovett.

"Is he okay? I need to see him."

"You can't, honey," says a nurse who might have been with him for the whole time or just joined his side for all he knows, and gives him a sad smile. "He's in surgery right now." She might say more, but Tommy can't hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

He can't even hear Jon and Emily's voices at first; he only recognizes them when they stand right in front of him. 

Emily is crying and Jon touches Tommy's uninjured shoulder, careful but insistent, like he wants to make sure Tommy's still here. 

The thing is, Tommy is. Even if he doesn't feel like it right now.

But Lovett? He has no idea if Lovett is even still alive, surgery can mean anything and everything. 

"What even happened?" Jon asks, voice tight and full of concern. 

"I don't know," Tommy says and only then realizes he's still crying. "It's my fault. I was driving. Whatever happened, I didn't— I don't know what happened."

Emily holds him, careful, like the soft touch on his shoulders is as tight as she dares to. Not like it would matter. Tommy knows he should be hurting but his body feels like foam, like cotton, like it's not even really his own.

"Nobody's blaming you," she whispers into his temple.

Her words are blatantly untrue and Tommy can guess Jon knows it, judging by the worried look on his face.

*

They are only stopping at Tommy's house on the way to Jon and Emily's to get some clothes and things Tommy might need. He tried to be adamant about staying at his own house, but he didn't have it in himself to fight Emily—or the doctor who would have preferred to keep him at the hospital, at least overnight.

The painkillers must have kicked in somewhere between their houses because suddenly Tommy finds himself propped onto Jon's shoulder, tumbling into the house. He gets lead into the guest room and somehow loses most of his clothes before drifting off again.

It's not a restful sleep. He wakes up in horror, gasping for air, sitting up so fast that his whole left side screams in agony. It's almost dark outside. He must have slept the whole day.

Two syllables shoot through his head into his stomach where they turn his insides to stone.

Lovett.

He almost falls off the bed, limbs too slow in untangling themselves from the sheets. On unsteady legs he more stumbles than walks out of the room, looking for his phone or Emily or Jon or all three.

Emily and Jon stop him from falling in the hallway. He learns that Lovett's parents are on the way to LA and that Lovett is alive but not awake. Lovett's mother is way more willing than the hospital was to update them on Lovett's condition. It washes over Tommy like ice water. Everything that happened, happened because of him. Because he wasn't paying attention.

Even the call from the police he gets an hour later doesn't change how he feels. It doesn't matter that the other driver was at fault. It doesn't matter that he was driving too fast. Tommy should have seen him coming, should have moved out of the intersection. 

And he didn't.

*

Jon drives Tommy to the checkup the next morning. The pills have worn off and so has the shock. Tommy almost misses it. Wasn't it pleasant, to be enclosed in thick fog that numbed every sense, even his sense of self? Wasn't it pleasant compared to this?

He rubs his arms, without meaning to, just giving in to the constant feeling of cold, despite the LA heat. And if he presses down on the purple bruise on his left shoulder for a moment too long, nobody has to know. Nobody has to know how much he wants the physical pain to overpower whatever else he's feeling.

Jon waits for him on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the corridor while a doctor examines him. She explains his injuries to him—again probably, but it's all for the best, Tommy can't really remember a lot of yesterday—and carefully suggests an appointment with one of their psychologists. "You had an acute stress reaction. It's recommended to keep an eye on how you'll manage to deal with it in the next couple of weeks. Go there for an initial appointment, they’ll refer you to a psychologist from our network."

Tommy stares at the card in his hands. Department of Clinical Social Work. As if it mattered. As if it matters that his head is racing. Nothing matters when Lovett's still not awake.

*

They meet Lovett's parents in the cafeteria.

His mother hugs both of them. She's careful when she closes her arms around Tommy, worried when she looks into his face. For a moment he wishes he had his own mother here. It’s not like she didn't offer. But his injuries aren't that bad, he doesn't need anyone to take care of him, doesn't need anyone to put their life on pause just for him. The small comfort it might bring him is not worth the trouble it would cause.

Lovett's father shakes his hand but avoids his eyes, even when they sit down. He's stone-faced, jaw so tight that the muscles in his neck are pronounced. 

Tommy tries not to take it personally. Not everything is about you, he reminds himself. Lovett's father has at least as much reason to be worried out of his mind as Tommy has. 

Lovett's mother tells them everything about the surgery, everything the doctors told her and her husband earlier. Instead of helping, all the medical facts only make Tommy more anxious. He can't stop imagining Lovett in surgery, getting his skull opened to relieve some of the pressure. He shivers just thinking about it.

With a clang that echoes from the walls, Lovett's father puts down his cup. He stands up and leaves the table without saying anything. His wife looks after him. Her lips are a thin line when she turns back around. 

Tommy can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite right, but when she continues talking about Lovett his attention shifts to her again. 

"Do you want to see him?" she finally asks.

Tommy wants to say yes but can't. The thought of Lovett lying on white sheets, surrounded by machines, and it all being Tommy's fault. The thought alone makes him want to leave the hospital without looking back.

The decision gets taken from his hands when he hears Jon saying yes. He quietly follows them when they make their way back to the ICU, never able to shake off the pictures in his mind. 

"Visits are limited to ten minutes per hour right now. They want to make sure he's stable before letting us in for longer," she explains as they walk through the hospital corridors. "And I'm not sure, but considering you're not immediate family, at least not officially, I think they'll only let one of you in his room at a time." 

It feels strangely like a relief to Tommy. Jon was the one who said yes, they wanted to see Lovett. Jon's the one who's going to get those ten minutes.

But it's Tommy who stands in front of a door five minutes later, with disinfected hands and a pounding heart.

*

The picture hurts even more than he anticipated. Lovett, pale, unmoving and so, so quiet. 

"When will he wake up?" he hears himself ask. It needs to be a when. It can't be anything else. Tommy refuses to even consider that option.

"We can't predict anything at this point, I'm sorry," the nurse who accompanied him says. "You can stay with him for ten minutes. I'll give you a bit of privacy."

She closes the door and the only sound left in the room is the beeping of the machines. It's harder to stand than Tommy would have guessed.

Carefully he sits down on the chair next to Lovett's bed.

"Hey," he whispers, hands wringing in his lap, unsure what he's supposed to do with them. Is he allowed to touch him? Would Lovett even want him to? Or will he make a face about it, when he finally wakes up and Tommy tells him about it? _You held my hand? I can't remember consenting to that._

"Hey Lovett," he says again. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what happened. The police sa— they say it's not my fault. But— I. If I had paid more attention, this whole thing wouldn't have happened. I'm so sorry."

He takes Lovett's hand in his. Fuck whatever Lovett might say when he wakes up. The hand in his is cold and soft, muscles slack like he was sleeping. But the pulse he feels under his fingertips is the best thing he felt in a day. An unmistakable sign that Lovett is still here, that each and every horror scenario in Tommy's head is not true yet.

He's crying again. Tears running down his face, landing on their joined hands between them.

"I need you to be okay," Tommy whispers. It's the last thing he says to Lovett before the nurse comes back.

*

Somehow he convinces Jon he's ready to go back to work the next day. Getting his mind off things and all. Jon has seen him in enough high-pressure situations to know he's best when he has the least time to think. The weekend will come too soon as it is. 

"What is happening to the shows this week?" he asks.

Jon shrugs without taking his hands off the steering wheel. "Don't worry about it. Ben's got a guest for Pod Save The World, Dan and I will record like normal. And Lovett's show, well, that's canceled, obviously."

Of course it is. Tommy should not feel like someone punched him in the stomach hearing it.

Pundit presses her nose into his hand like she can feel it too.

"What did you say? I didn't look at social media much in the last two days. I have actually no idea how— I should at least know—" He fumbles for his phone. Until this point it hasn't even occurred to him to check how they decided to deal with the situation.

"Tommy," Jon says gently, "that's why we have a company and don't handle everything on our own. Don't worry about it. We're keeping it quiet for now, we just announced the changes. We wanted to wait and see before we shared anything more."

"Lovett would hate missing out on getting tons of shit sent to the hospital," Tommy tries in a weak attempt to make a joke. He’s never felt less like joking.

"Huh." Jon scratches his chin. "I didn't consider that, to be honest. Maybe we should talk to his parents about it. I promised Fran to call later anyway, I could ask her opinion."

*

After sorting through his emails Tommy feels tired to the bone— and it's not even noon yet. Earlier he turned around to read an email he got to Lovett— only to find his place empty. It's strange, running on some kind of base level of pain, so constant that it gets easier to ignore the longer it lasts. And then something happens, something that kicks the feet out from under you. Tommy can't breathe for a second, chest tied into a knot that's tightening whenever he gets a glimpse of the empty space. Even figuratively. When he thinks of a joke, reads a headline, gets a thought and wants to turn around to tell Lovett about it.

He catches Jon's gaze. Jon looks unsure and worried. 

"Tommy..."

"It's alright."

"It obviously isn't. You know, I think it was a stupid idea to come back to the office so early. You're no help to anyone this way, not even to yourself. Just, go home. Or to the hospital."

"I shouldn't—" He can't even finish the sentence. He feels like he shouldn't but if he's honest, it's the only place he wants to be right now. 

*

Instead of Jon and Emily's address, Tommy types in the address of the hospital. On the drive there he can't keep his legs from bouncing. He tries to catch up on some news, but his thoughts wander without his permission, to Lovett, again and again. 

A nurse informs him that the medical round at noon just finished and Lovett's parents are at lunch, so she can let him in the room for a couple of minutes.

"Has anyone told you how you can help him with his recovery yet?" she asks, leading him to the room. 

"I... I don't think so?" Tommy can't remember. There's a lot he can't remember from the last two days. 

While she waits for him to disinfect his hands she explains the protocol for visitors. How he's supposed to announce himself by name when stepping into the room, how he should just talk about his day, have a normal conversation with Lovett. Touching him, stroking his skin, is highly encouraged. Tommy doesn't feel like that's permission she's able to give him.

"Also, anything that could be familiar to him might help. Favorite music, some kind of scent he might connect to something. Whatever you can think of."

"Can I bring a dog?" Tommy asks, mostly joking.

"Not as long as he's in the ICU, no. But as soon as his vital functions, his breathing and circulation are stable, he will get transferred to another ward. You might get permission to bring a dog there."

Tommy feels like he can't breathe when he steps into the room. The squeak of the soles of his shoes on the linoleum floor mixed with the beeping of the machines are echoing in his ears.

"Hey Lovett, it's me, Tommy. Hi. I'm—I'm here instead of at work? Surprise?"

He sits at the bedside for a while, tells Lovett about all the times he turned around today, just to see an empty space. It's right on the border between giving Lovett something for his ego and telling too much. 

How strange, to have a conversation so one-sided and still so tactical. 

It couldn't have been even ten minutes before the nurse comes back in. She looks apologetic when she says, “His parents are back and would like to talk to you.”

Tommy feels a panic rise in him that's not unlike a schoolboy being summoned to the headmaster. 

Outside, it's not Lovett's parents waiting for him, it's just his father. He has a grim look on his face. None of this loosens the tightness in Tommy's chest a bit.

Instead of a greeting, Lovett's father gets straight to the point. "I think you should leave. We will call you and Jon when there are new developments."

"I think I'd rather stay," Tommy says without even blinking. He doesn't feel like leaving, doesn't feel like sitting at home, or at the Favreau's, staring at a wall, miles away from Lovett. When something happens, it would take too long to get here. Whatever happens. He needs to be here. He would love to claim it's for Lovett's sake, but it's definitely mainly for his own sake.

"I think you should leave," Lovett's father says again, jaw tight. "Without you, we wouldn't even be in this situation."

Tommy feels himself freeze. It's one thing to have the thought himself. It's entirely different to have it thrown at him. Still, he nods. "Yeah," he murmurs. "That's fair, I suppose."

"Glad we agree.” He says and doesn't sound glad at all, he sounds sarcastic and angry. “Listen, if I'm gonna lose my only son because you weren't able to drive a damn car, then..."

There's a glimmer of something in Tommy that wants to fight back, but it drowns under a wave of guilt as soon as he lifts his eyes from the floor.

Lovett's father is right.

"Alright. When you leave for the night you can send me a message. I could stay for a while, then."

"If I had it my way you wouldn't. But my wife disagrees, so I'll let her know you were offering." With those words he turns around, making it abundantly clear that the conversation is over.

On his way out Tommy thinks of dozens of possible things he could have said. But no matter how much he twists and turns it around in his head, the reality stays the same. If he wouldn't have given Lovett a ride back from the gym, none of this would have happened. Maybe Tommy would have been hit, but a bruised side and seven stitches would have had little to no consequences.

Not like this.

*

He takes an Uber to the Favreau's to collect his stuff under the worried eyes of Emily.

"You can stay, Tommy, you know that! You can stay as long as you want."

"Thank you, Em," he says and really means it. They have been an enormous help since the accident happened. Tommy wouldn't have known what to do without them. But he feels like he needs to be alone, just for a while. Sort everything that happened in the hope of maybe start dealing with it at some point. "Really, thank you. But I need to go home, be by myself for a while. I'll come back before I go crazy."

"Promise?" she asks, still looking skeptical. But she’s also known him for long enough to know that he sometimes just needs a moment to himself.

"Pinky promise," Tommy agrees, holding up his hand in front of her.

*

Crazy is, fortunately, relative. Also not very sensible or politically correct, he realizes that. Some might say lying on your floor for an hour, waiting for your phone to ring, isn't quite normal. But normal might be even more debatable of a term, so Tommy doesn't give a fuck.

He tries to catch up on the news, but everything he reads reminds him of Lovett, one way or another. He tries to ignore it, and ignore it harder, until his stomach turns, and he hurries into the direction of the bathroom.

After, he has only enough energy for sitting on the floor while brushing his teeth and sinking down on the cold tiles.

It's gotten dark outside. His bruised side hurts after so long on the hard floor, pain throbbing through him, ending in the cut on his temple. The most ironic thing is that it starts to itch. He's healing. His body at least is. Tommy can't, not until— 

For the first time, he lets go of the iron grip around a door in his brain that wanted to open for the past two days. For the first time, he thinks about the possibility that not everything will be alright.

Until now he carefully guarded those thoughts back into the depths of his brain, so far from outside his reach, filling his head with information about Lovett’s current state. How is he? What's the exact diagnosis? What possible stages of recovery are there? Tommy has read more medical articles in the last day than he had in the whole rest of his life. He hoped it would make him feel less helpless, would help him develop a plan or at least the possibility of one.

It doesn't.

And no matter how careful he was, reading article after article, website after website, careful to avoid all the bad outcomes, the ones that don't continue with_ after the patient regains complete consciousness_—it’s now a knowledge he has to live with. The thoughts of what could go wrong are creeping up with so much more determination now.

What if Lovett doesn't wake up? What if he does but will never recover, never be himself again?

How will Crooked be able to continue? How will Tommy be able to continue? Tommy can't imagine a world where it's only him and Jon sharing the office.

"There's so much I should have told you," Tommy whispers into the darkness. "I need you to wake up. I need you to— I need you."

It's the first time he put the thought into words but it instantly sounds familiar, like a chant he's had in the back of his head for years now.

"I need you," he whispers again, this time in full knowledge of what these words mean. What they mean for him, what they mean in the grand picture of things.

His phone lights up the room with a message from Fran.

*

Tommy's not sure if it’s that he doesn't trust himself in a car anymore or if it’s that he's responsible enough to not drive under the influence of painkillers and a heart that hurts regardless of them.

He's glad his driver doesn't ask him why he's on his way to the hospital this late in the evening. He didn't even put time into getting dressed properly, just threw on a pair of dark sweatpants and a hoodie that reminds him of DC. He's almost sure Lovett once wore it when all his own clothes were dirty.

He's very glad he's not driving, for whatever reason, because the thought feels like an electrical shock. Tommy remembers not only the hoodie and how Lovett looked in it, sitting on the couch in the living room, while he defended his theft of Tommy's clothes with what he seemed to think were very good reasons; he also remembers the feeling that hit him in that moment. Back then he wasn't able to properly decipher it, and what did it matter anyway? Tommy had forgotten about the moment for years.

But now that he remembers he suddenly knows exactly what that feeling was.

"Oh fuck."

*

"Mr. Vietor, are you okay? Have you noticed anything that needs medical attention?"

He remembers the nurse vaguely, knows he's talked to her before. Even if he can't remember which day it was.

"No." He shakes his head, and where he would normally offer a reassuring smile, his face doesn't want to comply. "I'm here for Jon Lovett."

She nods as if she understands. Maybe she does. There are only so many assumptions one can make about someone who arrives at the hospital at 11 at night in only mildly presentable clothes. "We don't have visiting hours for our patients at the ICU, so I can let you see him for ten minutes. But then you should go back home. You need to recover as well."

He wants to laugh at that. Talking about recovery in the context of a bruised side and a cut that needed stitches sounds laughable to him when Lovett is going through so much worse.

"I need to know he's alright before I can," he says, and is surprised by his own honesty.

She assesses him for a moment, looks left and right before leaning in a bit closer. "Is it a coincidence you're here now that his parents have left?"

He can see in her eyes that there are layers to her question. Layers she can't get into, officially.

"No," he says. It's the truth after all, even if not necessarily in the way she implies.

She gives him a sad smile. Tommy knows what she's assuming and doesn't bother to correct her. It might give him a couple of minutes more and is not going to hurt anybody.

*

He was right. She lets him stay for twenty minutes before finally ushering him out of the room.

"I'm sorry that I can't let you stay longer right now. His parents requested visits at night to be limited to shorter time frames.I try to bend the rules as far as I can with— you know, sometimes it's not fair."

Maybe he does feel a bit bad, now he's seeing the sympathetic look on her face. Whatever the exact scenario is she's creating in her head, it's not real. No matter how much Tommy wishes otherwise.

The realization came slowly—maybe it took him years after all—but now that he's arrived at the only conclusion that makes sense, he knows it's true and has been for a while. He always had the thought, in the back of his head, that with Lovett, there's something he wasn't able to put his finger on. Not until it might have been too late.

He's in love with Jon Lovett. Has been for a while, possibly years. Or at least could have been for years, if only he would have allowed himself that. He's not sure which it is and if it even matters at all.

He thinks about the card in his wallet.

"I'm here for the whole night shift," the nurse says suddenly. "I already told you you should go home and get some rest, and I stand by that. But if you choose not to take that recommendation, then I will try to let you see him as long as I can."

"Thank you—"

"Mariel." She smiles at him. "It's Mariel. And you're welcome."

*

When the sky outside turns a soft pink he finally takes an uncomfortable nap in the hard chair in front of Lovett's room until Mariel wakes him up. She doesn't look very happy about it, but she probably knows how little rest he actually is able to get in a chair like that.

Maybe he would have been better off drinking a couple more cups of the terrible hospital coffee instead of trying to sleep. Now he feels wrong in his own skin, unsure on his legs, not quite here. So tired that being awake might just be another bad dream.

He cried so much in the last few days that he thought it must have all been out of his system, but as soon as his eyes settle on Lovett he's tearing up again.

After Mariel closes the door behind herself he sits down next to Lovett, motion already uncomfortably familiar.

The unfairness of it all hits him. How unfair it is that he can get used to sitting down in a chair next to a hospital bed while Lovett can't do anything at all. If the world was fair their roles would be reversed, with Lovett in his own bed, peacefully sleeping. Tommy wouldn't wish a hospital-chair-nap on anyone, least of all on Lovett.

Things don't happen for a reason. They just happen. Tommy knows that all too well, has a list of things that just happened. They are written under his skin, too close to the surface not to itch. Some are more severe than others, some are fleeting but never leaving for good. Some are constant but he hopes they will be over soon. He has learned to live with most of them, has learned to carry their weight.

But he's never been as tired as he is now. He's never been so ready to give up. If Lovett doesn't wake up again, if the last thing Tommy had said to him would be something about potential sponsors instead of "I love you"—then he has no idea how he's supposed to continue any of this.

The sharp smell in his nose turns to acid in his stomach, the rhythmic beeping into a countdown to the moment his head will explode. Blindly he searches for a hand he knows won't return his touch.

"You need to wake up," he whispers into Lovett's palm, "because I can't do this without you."

*

At seven in the morning, he gets a text from Lovett's mother. She just talked to the hospital on the phone, Lovett's state is stable but unchanged and she and her husband will drive to the hospital now. That's Tommy's call to get himself a car.

But before he does that, he makes a detour to another part of the hospital, and makes an appointment for the next day. He can't help Lovett right now, not really, not besides what he's already doing. But maybe he can help himself a bit.

On the way home he meets Mariel in the parking space. He almost didn't recognize her in her private clothes.

"I hope you're not on the way to your car?" she asks. The authoritative streak is her own, not a byproduct of her job, it seems.

"No, I called an Uber. Also: not going to work but home to get a bit of sleep."

"That's what I want to hear. By the way, I work night shifts until the end of the week, so if you want to come again tonight to visit your boyfriend..." She gives him a conspiratorial look.

Tommy considers correcting her assumption, now that she verbalized it. He doesn't have it in himself. Fear of losing the visiting privileges it brought him is just part of the reason.

*

He gets a bit of sleep. It's only on the couch—his bed feels somehow unfairly comfortable—and not the most restful Tommy's ever had, but he'll manage. He managed with way less in the past.

In the late afternoon, Emily calls to inform him that she ordered food to his house and that she, Jon, and the food will arrive in the next twenty minutes.

He takes a quick shower. Less because he feels like it, more to not worry Emily and Jon more than they're probably already are.

The first ten minutes feel like they’re here to make sure he’s alright—Emily asks questions, many of which Tommy would like to not answer. He doesn't feel like discussing what Lovett's father said to him, or how he slept last night, or if he's eaten at all since he left the Favreau's house.

It's a strange secret to keep, he realizes. It's strange not to tell them he spent the night at the hospital. But telling them would lead to questions and assumptions. Most likely not the correct ones, but Tommy can live without Jon thinking he's so tortured by his bad consciousness that he can't leave Lovett's side.

"We want to go visit him tomorrow before work," Jon says. "You want to come?"

It seems like there's at least one secret Tommy has to talk about if he wants to avoid any really uncomfortable situations.

"You know, I would, but... Lovett's dad's not a fan of me right now."

"What do you..." Jon starts, but Emily has already arrived at the correct conclusion. 

"He's blaming you? He can't be serious?!"

"Well," Tommy says, not knowing why he's even doing what he's doing. "He's not wrong, per se."

"Yes, he is! The police report was very clear about—"

"I know what the police report says, Em. It was still me behind the wheel. It was me who should have paid more attention."

"That's fucking bullshit, Tom." Jon leans forward, forearms braced again his thighs. "It was not your fault and I'm not going to let you talk yourself into it."

Good luck with that, buddy, Tommy thinks, but stays quiet. 

Jon doesn’t stop giving him sideways glances for the rest of the evening, but drops the topic, at least for the moment. It’s nice, having them over, spending time together. They almost manage to take his mind off of Lovett enough to not have him look at his phone every five minutes. Almost.

They’re barely out of the door when the text he’s been waiting for all along arrives. 

*

It's another night of uncomfortable chairs, bad coffee, and a heart too heavy to carry.

He's able to spend the majority of the time at Lovett's side because Mariel is an absolute darling and if he's ever able to leave this hospital behind for good he's buying her the biggest flower arrangement he can find. 

And he tells him everything. All the news Tommy catches up on, sometimes even while sitting at Lovett's side, holding his phone in one hand and Lovett's hand in his other. He tells him all the things that come to his mind. Fleetingly, he considers the information he has read. That coma can come in many shapes or forms. Sometimes people react to external stimuli, sometimes they even respond to their own names or simple requests. He also read about cases where people remember whatever they've been told while not completely conscious. So he talks about everything—except the one thing he wants to talk about the most, the one realization that changed everything.

It differs wildly how much coma patients remember after waking up, but sometimes they remember entire one-sided conversations that weren't so one-sided after all. And although it might be a romantic trope, to tell the one you love about your feelings only when they are unconscious—Tommy doesn't find it very romantic. Or fair. He wants to have this conversation, as much as he's afraid, he wants to have it. Just not this way.

"You know, if you don't wake up," he says, letting his thumb rub over Lovett's hand, "if you don't wake up, I'm going to quit. I have no idea what I will do, but this won't be it. I can't imagine coming into an office every day, working on a mission that we defined together. I can't sit there and look at Jon and not think about you. I won't stop thinking about you every damn second anyway, just so you know. But please don't take this as a motivation to stay asleep, okay? I know you like attention, but that would be a bit much, even for you, don't you think?"

It feels like Lovett's hand twitches, just for a fraction of a second. Tommy's so tired he doesn't trust his own senses.

It's routine by now. He falls asleep too late and wakes up at the break of dawn, body clammy with cold sweat. Lately, even before the crash, he could count the moments he wasn't baseline terrified in a day on his hands. And most of them are— were—- due to Lovett. A quick joke, an easy smile. Sometimes, only when it got too bad, accompanied by a hand, brushing him fleetingly, like it was an accident. Tommy always knew when it wasn't. He never said anything. If only he had.

He's ashamed, thinking of how long it took him to understand. What it took him to understand.

How fucking pathetic. Lovett has to almost, and maybe, and kind of die for him to finally come to terms with your goddamn feelings. What kind of loser is he?

The morning comes too soon for Tommy. He had convinced Emily and Jon to not talk about what Lovett's father said, not with anyone. Not for now. There are other, more important things to worry about right now. Lovett's father is hurting as well, Tommy's not the only one who matters here.

He knows it's going to be the last time he will be able to see Lovett until the next night. It's strange, how many levels you can miss a person on. He misses Lovett as a friend. He misses him as the person who can get Tommy out of his head with just a couple of words, in a way no one else ever could. He misses him as the person he turns to for certain headlines, the one who knows sides of Tommy few others do. He misses his smell and his eyes and most of all he misses his voice.

With the hand not holding Lovett's—it's what he does now, it feels wrong not to—he rubs his eyes. They itch with tears that aren't there anymore and tiredness, so much tiredness. His skin feels too big, numb, his head clouded in white noise.

That's also why he doesn't recognize the feeling in his hand at first. Only when he looks up he sees fingers moving. They're not his.

His head shoots up and there's Lovett, blinking slowly at him.

In his rush to press the button on top of Lovett's bed, he almost falls. 

"Lovett, hey, Jon, can you hear me?" One hand on the button, one on Lovett's cheek, turning his head into Tommy's direction, carefully.

Lovett doesn't answer, eyes open but empty. If it wasn't for the unchanged beeping in the background Tommy is sure he would lose his mind. This way he can remind himself that waking up from a coma is different than waking up from sleep. Only rarely it happens all at once. Most of the time it happens gradually, with fingers moving, head turning, eyes opening, way before the patient wakes up at all. Even then it takes time to wake up completely.

He presses the button one more time, before taking Lovett's face between both of his hands. He sweeps his thumbs over his cheeks, eyes never breaking away from his. There's still no further reaction.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but hey, it's me, Tommy. I'm here. And you just opened your eyes, that's great, Jon. That's amazing, you're amazing. You're doing so good. Continue what you're doing, alright? I miss you. I miss talking to you." 

Only when the door behind him opens and the medical staff come in he realizes he's babbling and abruptly shuts his mouth.

Mariel gives him a soft smile and gestures for him to leave them alone with Lovett for a moment.

*

"So they're saying you're probably waking up," Tommy says, sitting down at Lovett's bedside the next evening. "Great brain activity, well done, dude."

Tommy can imagine the answer in his head. How Lovett would appreciate being praised for his brain. It's maybe the only part of himself that he's not overly critical of. 

"I thought I'd use my chance to display my ignorance towards all things musical until then. Did you know that they encourage you to bring familiar things? And yeah, I asked if I could bring Pundit, but that's been a clear no so far. So this will have to do."

He takes his phone out, scrolls through the list of music he chose earlier. "You know, I tried to find the stuff you might actually listen to. I mean, I even googled gay musical classics. So don't blame me if this sucks."

His heart beats a bit faster when he presses play. The first chords of a piano fill the silence between them. It's silly to be nervous about this, he tells himself. It might be silly, but there is a certain anticipation in him, like he's going to be judged on this. 

"So, I suppose we're listening to musicals tonight." He takes Lovett's hand in his once more, traces his knuckles with his thumb. "Might as well use that chance to expand my knowledge a bit, huh?"

It's a nice change, not having to fill the void of silence all by himself, having something else to focus on. Without something like that he feels himself drown in here. It's too much, the hospital, Lovett motionless and silent, the question of what will be. And after all, the guilt that Tommy still can't shake off.

He sits through three songs before it's enough for him. "Seriously, Lovett, I have no idea why you like this. I mean, come on, _Love is like a virus I'm infected with?_ That's not even good writing! How can you not be more offended by that? You're better than this."

Lovett doesn't react, but for the first time, Tommy really hopes Lovett's going to remember what he said. He made a good point, after all. 

Mariel wakes him up in the morning, one hour before Lovett’s parents usually arrive. His back hurts and he has a crick in his neck, but he probably didn't sleep this long at one time ever since the accident happened. Seems like musicals are at least good for one thing.

"I thought you maybe wanted to have a moment with him before you have to leave?" Mariel asks, a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Tommy says quietly. "Thank you."

"Don't worry, I get it. For the longest time, I had to hide my girlfriend from my parents. That's no fun normally, I can’t even imagine how you feel."

For the first time, Tommy feels bad about his white lie that might have been not so white after all. 

But he doesn't get to dwell on that thought, doesn't even really get the chance to properly say goodbye to Lovett. Because in one moment Lovett's hand is soft and slack in his, his face is peaceful, his eyes are closed and then— 

"Tommy?" 

Tommy's head whips around so fast his own injured muscles send a painful shock through his body. "Lovett? Oh my god, Lovett!"

*

He doesn't get to keep the moment to himself; it's mere seconds after Lovett spoke his first words that the room is flooded by medical staff. 

"I'm sorry, but you have to leave," a doctor says, gently pushing him in the direction of the door. 

"Please don't ask him if he knows who the president is," Tommy says quietly to her. Not quietly enough though. The last thing he sees before the door closes behind him is the furrow between Lovett's brows. 

He calls Jon immediately, feeling little remorse about bringing the good news himself instead of leaving it to Lovett's parents. 

Jon and Emily are already half out of the front door when Jon asks, "Are we meeting you there?"

He thinks for a moment. He can either explain the situation to Lovett which sounds like very little fun, even under normal circumstances—or hope for everyone to behave like an adult.

"Yeah," he says, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes, "yeah, you are."

*

Lovett's father indeed does not look happy when he sees Tommy, but that pales in comparison to the nerve-wracking feeling of having to wait for a possible doom. There's nothing concrete, nothing for Tommy to hold onto at the moment. All the news they get isn't what he wants to hear. For example, the fact that a period of confusion and disorientation often follows a moderate-severe head injury. 

Post-traumatic amnesia, Tommy adds in his head. The more correct name would be the confusional state. Difficulties with paying attention and short term memory. Emotionally stressed, often agitated, nervous, restless, and easily frustrated. 

He realizes how naive he was to believe being informed would make him any less terrified. There is no way to be any more terrified than he currently is. 

The doctor explains to them it isn't unusual, very likely temporary, one of the common things; explains everything Tommy has read himself, again and again. It's not reassuring when the alternative is heartbreaking.

The medical tests and evaluations take their time. The day moves in slow-motion and races so fast that Tommy feels unable to keep up. He takes a nap on Jon's shoulder that leaves him disoriented and choked up. 

So far they've been unable to get to visit him. Either the medical staff is in there, or Lovett is asleep. The few minutes he can see visitors are reserved for his parents. And despite the looks Lovett's father shoots in his direction every now and then, they update Emily, Jon, and Tommy every time.

*

In the evening the doctor brings the news that Lovett's vital signs are all good and that from here on they need to monitor how he will manage. He will need to stay at the hospital for at least two weeks. After that, they'll have to decide how to proceed. She's carefully optimistic but makes sure they're aware that this won't be all over as soon as he leaves the hospital—from there on a recovery period will start that might possibly last a lifetime.

Maybe she feels for the three tired figures behind Lovett's parents, maybe she's really convinced it's the best idea. Either way, she suggests they should all see Lovett, if only for ten minutes. 

"It's gonna be good for him to see a range of familiar faces. He's been pretty annoyed with our staff throughout the whole day."

Jon snorts. "What makes you think we won't annoy him?"

She makes sure they're adequately briefed not to take anything too personal.

"If they knew how mean Lovett can be on a regular basis they wouldn't try to warn us as often," Jon jokes, but he looks pale when they stand in front of the door.

*

Everyone tries their best to be positive and chipper when they're finally let into Lovett's room. 

Lovett very much doesn't care for their positivity. All he wants to know is what happened in the last couple of days while he has been out.

"You better get back to the office tomorrow," he says to Tommy after they give him a short summary. "We're losing enough money as it is, with me in here. And then the hospital bills, oh god..."

"Our insurance is good," Tommy says, wondering if Lovett is focusing on the money aspect to avoid facing the very real consequences for himself.

"Yeah, sure. But this good? Look at my luxurious single room, Tommy."

Lovett's dad clears his throat. "When the bill come I'm sure Thomas will take care of them."

Four pairs of eyes are shooting to Lovett's dad and then Tommy. 

"Can we not do this now," Tommy pleads through clenched teeth. He's running on way less than his minimum of sleeping hours, and that's pretty low as it is. He feels like exploding but is keenly aware of how inappropriate it would be in this situation.

"What?" Lovett looks between them, confusion written all over his face. 

Tommy averts his eyes, looking down at the pattern of the floor that's already way too familiar. 

"I mean, it is his fault after all, that this happened. Why not let him pay the bills? It's not like it would ruin him," Lovett's father says, a bit too loud to not sound defensive. 

There's a pause, one that feels like ages and with every passing second Tommy's desire to sink into the floor grows.

"Did you really just say that?" Lovett finally asks, voice shaking with anger. "Are you fucking serious?"

Tommy has to look up again. He has seen Lovett furious, many, many times in his life. It's nothing new. This is. Because he never looked like this on Tommy's behalf.

"He was the one driving the car—"

"Get the fuck out," Lovett bellows. "I'm not going to lie here and listen to you blame Tommy for something that isn't his fault at all. The fucking asshole driving the other car could have killed both of us and you have the audacity to— Just get out, I don't want to see you in here again."

His father is beet red in the face, looks like he's about to start yelling. Tommy braces himself. In the last moment, he seems to decide against it, storms out of the room and bangs the door behind him.

"Jonathan," his mother says, helplessly reaching for his hand.

Lovett pulls it back, staring her down. "No, don't Jonathan me. Fuck this. You're either with me on this or you can leave as well."

*

The staff, understandably not very impressed with any of them, consequently throws out everyone. Jon, taking one look at Lovett's father pacing the hospital floor, takes Tommy by the arm and doesn't let go until they're outside in the small park. 

"That didn't go as I hoped it would."

"No shit," Tommy laughs, helplessly, and runs his hands over his face. 

"What now?" 

"I have no idea, Jon. I have no fucking idea." Tommy lets his shoulder slump against the building. The pain shooting sharply through his body is almost welcome. "Maybe it's best if I just stay away."

Jon lifts his chin and frowns. "You're kidding."

"I'm really not. Look, I'll talk to Lovett. This isn't worth—"

"Have you seen him in there?" Jon asks, raising his hand in the vague direction of the room they just came from. "Tommy, you've known Lovett for almost a decade. What the fuck makes you think that's gonna work?"

Jon's not wrong. Still... 

He sighs. "I know. But let's look at this objectively for a moment. He's gonna need his parents a lot more than he'll need me in the coming months. I've read a lot about recovery and—"

"I don't think you're being as objective here as you think, Tom," Jon says. His tone is careful and Tommy can hear the words he's not saying, even if he doesn't understand them. 

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Jon doesn't meet his eye. "It's just... I don't think you should be the one to make this decision for Lovett. I know you mean well, but dude, you know Lovett. He's not gonna appreciate it. At all."

Tommy would love to have a good retort for that, but there's no argument he can see to convince Jon. So he stubbornly repeats the truth, "It's my fault. What happened is my—"

"Fucking stop it, Tommy." 

Tommy flinches. It's not often that Jon gets unexpectedly loud. 

"I'm not going to listen to you blame yourself for something that isn't your fault at all. You didn't drunkenly crash your car into a building or something like that. And don't make that face, you know I'm right."

"Do I?" is all Tommy gets out. The iron grip around his ribcage doesn't let any more words out.

"If you don't..." Jon looks so helpless, Tommy feels almost like he should be the one comforting him. "If you don't, then you need to talk about it. With me, of course, but also with someone more qualified. We're in LA, Tom. Therapy is almost socially demanded here. Fuck, you do advertisements for talkspace if you don't want to go somewhere in person."

Tommy laughs, despite everything. "I've been. To an actual therapist, I mean. You know, they referred me to someone from their network. It’s close to the hospital, kind of convenient right now."

"Did you tell them about blaming yourself?"

The automatic door next to them glides open. There's an old woman, walking slowly outside, leaning onto the arm of a young girl. They exchange polite smiles when their eyes meet. He watches them walk away, slowly, never interrupting their conversation. 

"Did you?"

He's not getting out of this. He lets out a heavy breath and says, "No."

"You should."

"I know."

"Come here, idiot." Jon pulls him into a hug Tommy didn't know he needed as desperately as he does. 

He doesn't cry, but he holds onto Jon until Emily joins them outside and says, "His parents are gone. They’re heading home tomorrow."

*

Tommy's hands shake when he pushes the door to Lovett's room open. He didn't even think they would be able to see him again tonight, but while Emily might not have been able to convince either Lovett or his father to sto make peace, she obviously put a good word in for him. 

Or maybe this is just Mariel's doing again. Tommy has not seen her today, but he imagines rumors travel fast in environments like these.

Lovett's leaning against a pile of pillows. He looks incredibly tired but that doesn't dim the feeling of pure relief Tommy feels. He opened this door so many times to Lovett with his eyes closed. This alone is worth so much.

"Hey," Tommy says hesitantly. He stops feet away from the bed, not knowing what to do with his hands. He shoves them into the pockets of his pants, takes them out again, rubs them against each other. 

"Hey." Lovett gives him a smile, tired but real. When Tommy doesn't move he adds, "Come here and sit down. My eyes are still fucked up. When you stand this far away I see two of you and that would be a lot for anyone in a normal state, let alone in my current one."

Tommy laughs quietly and sits down as he's told. It's good to hear that Lovett's humor, of all things, is still intact. He leans forward, instinctively reaching for Lovett's hand, the movement so familiar after such a short time. Just at the last second, he thinks better of it. Instead of reaching for his hand, he clasps Lovett's shoulder and squeezes it lightly before letting go again.

"Sorry for..."

"No, let's not do this tonight."

"I'm just... you didn't need to do that, not for my sake."

Lovett raises his eyebrows. "Who said I did it for you? Isn't that a bit presumptuous of you?" 

Tommy can't help but laugh about that. He has missed him so much. 

"You know," Lovett says, grin a bit askew. "if this were a movie and I woke up with you at my bedside, I'd think we were married." He makes a sound that Tommy can just guess is supposed to be a laugh.

"We could be," Tommy says before he can think about it, backed into a corner he didn't even see coming. His heart stumbles before picking up speed. That's the thing. They could be. They really could be, and it takes Tommy just one moment of imagining it to know.

Lovett frowns. "I know I've been knocked out, but be reassured: I know who you are and I know who I am. We could not be married." His voice is raspy and there's a strange energy to him Tommy didn't expect.

He knows, he knows, he should not argue with Lovett so shortly after he woke up. But he can not let this be what Lovett thinks. Not with what Tommy had realized. 

"Of course we could be. It's not 2015 anymore." He pauses. "One moment, do you know it's not 2015 anymore?"

"Do I know...? Of course, I know it's not 2015 anymore!"

"Okay, that's great." It settles, slowly, very slowly, that Lovett's awake. That he's talking, that he's not missing big chunks of memory, that—

"2015 was two years ago."

Tommy freezes. "What...?"

Lovett sits up, careful not to pull any IVs out, looking wide-eyed.

But only for a terrifying second. 

Then he grins. "Just kidding. It's 2019."

"You fucking asshole," Tommy murmurs and despite his words, he leans forward to pull Lovett into a hug, buries his face in his neck. He doesn't smell like he's supposed to smell. Tommy still breathes him in. His hands are spread wide over Lovett's back, down his side. It's probably the most intimate hug they've ever shared. He doesn't have it in himself to care, too many feelings in him right now for shame or doubt to even have a chance. 

Lovett sighs. "Alright, alright." He puts his hands on Tommy's back. Despite all the awkwardness, it's the best moment Tommy's had in months.

*

The first days are rough. Tommy goes home, every now and then at least, to sleep and take a shower. He also pops into work. One time even to record a podcast, which everyone quickly realizes is a mistake.

He is restless, can't keep his attention on the conversations and his hands off his phone. Lovett theoretically is able to read, but screens still give him a headache. That doesn't stop him from excessively using the voice-to-text function whenever he needs to complain about something. And he has a lot to complain about. Emily has an appointment this afternoon and none of Lovett's other friends had been able to fill the time slot. Which left Lovett with nothing but an hour of physical therapy and a lot of pent up energy. 

He can't stand his physical therapist, the hospital food is atrocious, he misses Pundit, and everyone at the office, and when will Tommy or anyone else be back?

It really doesn’t help that his short term memory is not quite there yet.

Tommy selfishly wishes Lovett would be equally appreciative of them whenever they are there. He's aware that the heightened irritation is normal but that doesn't stop it from stinging, at least sometimes. Like when Lovett screamed at him for "always being there and having no life of his own." Maybe that just hit a little too close to home.

And indeed, when Tommy steps into his room later in the evening Lovett throws a pen at him.

"I've been turned to fucking mush! I can't even write a whole sentence before everything swims in front of my eyes. I can't even hold a pen properly." His voice breaks at the end, barely audible. 

At other times Tommy probably wouldn't even have noticed it, but he's so focused on Lovett at the moment that reading him suddenly turned out to be much easier. 

"Hey..." he says softly, sitting down on his chair next to the bed. He squeezes Lovett's hand for a hello and lets go, though not without regret. "Don't be so hard on yourself. This shit takes time."

"You're the one to talk! You got away with a cut that worst-case will just look dangerous and hot when it's fully healed." 

"I would be happier too if it had been me and not you," Tommy snaps. 

They're quiet for a while before Lovett says, "I wouldn't be."

*

"I still can't believe I was out for four days," Lovett says. "That shit feels longer in hindsight."

"Same," Tommy mumbles without looking up from his laptop. He has a lot of work to catch up on, but thankfully for a lot of it, it doesn't matter where he does it. The wifi in the hospital is reasonable enough for answering emails. 

"How much time did you spend here, actually?"

Tommy doesn't have to glance at Lovett to know the inquisitive look on his face, he can hear it in his voice. He doesn't feel like he can stand it right now, so he shrugs without looking up. "I didn't keep track."

"Approximately?"

"Approximately too long. As I said, it felt longer than four days."

"You were here when I first woke up..."

Tommy's head shoots up now. "You remember that again?" If Lovett remembers he was there, maybe he remembers—

"I don't," Lovett says, shaking his head. He looks unhappy about it. Almost as unhappy as Tommy feels. "My mother told me when they were still here. Somehow I didn't forget that."

"It's normal to lose certain memories. That happens. Your brain took a bit longer than your body to wake up, no big deal." It occurs to him that he's the one making a big deal out of it right now and he shuts his mouth.

Lovett has his lower lip between his teeth, not looking a Tommy. "When I first woke up. It was six in the morning. Did you... did you come here that early?"

"No." Tommy feels his ears turn red.

Lovett looks at him as if he's searching for something in his face. Something Tommy doesn't know but fears nonetheless.

"So. You were here at night? Why?"

Tommy rolls his eyes. He can't believe he has to do this. "Because I was scared, Lovett. Because I couldn't have slept anyway." For a second he's unsure if he should really say what he's about to say. "Also because your dad asked me politely to stay away from the hospital as long as your parents were here."

Lovett rubs his hands over his face before letting them fall down like they're weighing too much. He suddenly looks incredibly exhausted. "I'm sorry, you know. He shouldn't have—"

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Tommy says and takes Lovett's hand. The gesture has become as much something to soothe Tommy as it had been meant to be for Lovett.

Lovett stares down at their joined hands. For a moment Tommy worries he's remembering something more.

*

It's not even a week since Lovett woke up again but there are more stages and moods of recovery than Tommy could have anticipated. Sometimes, when he comes to visit, the room is pitch black. Then he knows only to enter on the tips of his toes, to sit down quietly. He quickly found out that even the light of a laptop and the sound of fingers on the keyboard are too much to stand for Lovett in those moments. 

The first time he silently leaves. But at home, he can't stop thinking of Lovett anyway.

So he stays the second time, quietly sits down next to him on the bed.

"My head hurts so much," Lovett whispers, almost not audible, "they've already given me all the painkillers I'm gonna get and it still hurts."

"I'm sorry," Tommy whispers back. He lets his hand run carefully over Lovett's curls. He didn't expect Lovett to lean into the touch, but he does, when Tommy's fingers lightly trace his hairline. "Is this okay?"

Lovett makes the softest sound.

Tommy carefully rubs circles into his temple, applies just the tiniest bit of pressure. He doesn't stop until he feels Lovett go slack and drift off to sleep. 

*

"You know, the nurse who was here earlier..."

"Which one?" Tommy copies a paragraph from an article into his document before he has the chance to forget about it again.

"Small, dark hair, loud voice..."

"Mariel?" Tommy doesn't know all the medical staff by name, but Mariel is the only one fitting the description.

"Right, Mariel," Lovett says. 

Only now Tommy realizes how strangely cautious Lovett's tone is. He finally lifts his eyes from the screen. 

Lovett sits in the bed, hands tangled in the sheet in his lap. He looks irritated and unsure.

"What about Mariel?" Tommy asks and regrets it in the same moment. Shit. Shit shit shit. He should have thought about that sooner!

"Yesterday she asked me if my boyfriend would be around. Do you by any chance know anything about that?"

Heat creeps up Tommy's neck and settles in his cheeks. "Maybe."

"Come on, Vietor! Spill the beans. Why does she think you're my boyfriend?"

Tommy puts his head into the neck and stares at the ceiling. He's momentarily tempted to count the tiles, even though he did that before, and he knows exactly how many are on the ceiling in Lovett's room. 

"I might have let her believe I were. When you were still, you know, and I was here all night. So she came to her own conclusion."

"And you didn't bother to explain to her that it was the wrong conclusion?"

"No," Tommy says, sitting up straight again, "Letting her believe what she believes gave me the privilege to stay in your room for longer than ten minutes at a time." He crosses his arms in front of his chest, feeling strangely defensive. "Sorry for not telling you. But I don't regret not clearing up the assumption."

Lovett gnaws on his lower lip before he finally nods. "Okay, I get that. Still, would have been nice to know I've got a boyfriend now. If I knew sooner I would have made him get me snacks from the vending machine outside."

"Is that a request?" 

"Maybe." Lovett slowly sways his head and then grins. "If I don't get sex out of this fake relationship, then food is the least you can do for me."

Before the blush can come back full force Tommy stands up and makes his way over to the door. "We can talk about the sex part again once you've fully recovered. Until then snacks it is. Any wishes in particular?"

Lovett snaps his mouth shut when their eyes meet. He murmurs, "Surprise me," before busying himself with his phone despite both of them knowing he won't be able to look at it longer than a minute at a time.

*

Lovett got moved from the ICU as soon they were sure his vital functions are stable, but when the first flowers lose their petals Tommy realizes how empty and cold the room feels. That's the reason why he lets himself into Lovett's house to collect a couple of things he deemed useful or just nice.

"I brought you things," Tommy chipperly exclaims when he steps into Lovett's room that evening. He holds up the bags over his shoulder and immediately lets his arms sink back down. 

Lovett looks at him as if he brought him the severed heads of, well, anything really. 

He sets down the bags next to the bed. In there are a pillow from home, some snacks, the framed picture of Pundit from his bedroom, some new headphones; nothing that justifies the look he gets. 

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Being so...nice! Thoughtful! That's not you." 

Tommy takes a step back. Lovett sounds an awful lot like he’s ramping up for a rant. Normally Tommy loves settling in for a Lovett rant, but this doesn’t feel like good natured nagging. This actually hurt. Why on earth would Lovett think that of him?

"What do you mean?" he asks, careful not to read into Lovett’s words too much. Now more than ever. 

"I mean, come on. I love you and everything—"

Tommy's heart beats a little faster, not only because of the faint trace of pink on Lovett's cheeks. 

"—but you're not someone who puts a whole lot of effort into thinking of people."

"That's not true!" Tommy defends himself. If Lovett knew how much he thought of him in the last couple of weeks he wouldn't say something like that. 

"Do I need to remind you of that wine-bottle-fiasco? Or when you didn't even ask me to be included in—"

"Hey," Tommy interrupts him. "That's not fair. I need to have at least a hint that you're actually interested in something. Like, I'm not gonna ask you if you want to join me picking out new carpets for my bathroom or something."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not, Tommy? Just ask me, if I don't want to I can still say no. How about you just assume I'm always interested in being asked."

Tommy huffs. "Oh, that's great. So I should get rejected over and over again just to make you happy? Sorry, Lovett, much as I'd like to..."

"That's not rejection." Lovett crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I shouldn't be surprised, what do you know about rejection after all?"

"Oh fuck you," Tommy murmurs, suddenly very tired. He presses the heels of his hands against his closed lids until he sees stars. 

"What? Do you have a sad sob story I don't know yet? Or do we need to bathe in old sorrows? Because as far as I'm aware you spent most of the last years cowardly hiding your heart just not to get it broken."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Tommy says, standing up and walking to the door. This is normal, he reminds himself. This is not about him. This is not Lovett finally revealing what he really thinks about Tommy. Well, not mainly. He has no illusions about the true feelings and thoughts behind his words. But he also knows that this is irritation and frustration, and all the bad feelings balled into an explosion that hit Tommy, just because he is there.

"Ah, don't even bother. You're the one who has been lucky. Go out and live your life. Don't worry about me."

As if Tommy has a chance. As if he ever had a chance.

*

Tommy didn't plan to drive to the hospital before the afternoon, but as soon as he's back from the gym he feels restless. The shower can't wash it off, the coffee can't rinse it down. 

He can't believe himself when he steers the car in the direction of the hospital. 

Thankfully he knows all the staff working this morning and gets lead to Lovett's room without any discussion.

"How is he today?"

"Ah," the nurse says, shaking his head carefully. "Threw up a lot this morning. Don't worry, it's just low blood pressure, nothing to worry about too much, as long as you keep an eye on it. Anyway, not a great start to the day."

When Tommy comes in Lovett is almost completely hidden under his blanket. 

"Good morning?" Tommy asks, voice low. He has no interest in waking Lovett up if he—

"What are you doing here?" Lovett asks from the blanket pile. His voice sounds strange.

"Visiting you? " Tommy asks, confused about what Lovett means. "Bringing you something better than hospital coffee, even if it's without caffeine?" And then, a thought comes to his mind. "Are the memory issues back? Do you know what happened?"

Lovett tears the blanket from his face and stares at Tommy. His face is slightly puffy, his eyes red, and when he starts to talk, Tommy's suspicion that he's crying gets confirmed.

"Of course, I remember! I also remember being an absolute ass to you yesterday. And now... you're... you're here and I—" He sobs. "Now you're here and I... I'm gonna be shitty again and then you will— I will push all of you away until I'm— until I'm alone and..."

Tommy doesn't even hesitate when he sits down on the bed and pulls Lovett's head in his lap. "Hey," he says softly, raking his fingers through Lovett's damp curls. "Hey, Lovett. Nobody's gonna let themselves be pushed away by you being shitty. Not right now at least. Just don't take this as permission for forever."

Lovett laughs, a wet laugh, but still a laugh. Tommy's chest swells with something that needs to wait for Lovett to be better.

"But I'm not always like this, am I? Ah fuck, is this me misremembering myself as a far more charming, far less assholish person than I actually am?"

Tommy, never stopping stroking his hair, says, "You're a bit mean sometimes, but not like this. It's fine, though. This is recovery. It won't be like this forever."

Lovett snuffles, hiding his face in Tommy's shirt. "And what if it is?"

"Then you either need to learn how to be less of an asshole or we need to learn how to love extra-mean-you."

*

With each day something gets a bit better. 

Part of Tommy's new routine includes early morning visits to the hospital now. Sometimes those visits stretch through the whole day, sometimes he leaves and comes back in the afternoon or evening. Almost always he comes back to some kind of positive development.

Like Lovett's vision getting better with each passing day. Tommy made it a habit to bring some kind of light reading with him whenever he stops by in the morning, carefully selected not to bring up daily politics. The first couple of times he read to Lovett—he now knows more about interior trends for the fall than he did before—but by now Lovett manages to read for several minutes without getting a splitting headache. Screens are still a problem and most likely will stay for a while, but that kind of works in all of their favor. It keeps Lovett from getting on social media—which these days is more than necessary when you want to keep a patient like Lovett calm. 

His coordination and balance are much better as well. Just yesterday they took a walk through across the grounds. Lovett still had to hold onto Tommy’s arm, but there are worse things in the world. 

What really helped with his mood is being able to hold a pen and write again. Emily brought him a notebook after Lovett’s monologue about whether any of his experiences at least would be usable at a later point. For the stage or otherwise.

His doctors are very pleased with the progress he's making. This is great, but it also means that Lovett's time at the hospital is coming to an end. Which is obviously great, as well. Mostly at least. 

In the hospital, he's under constant supervision, something that soothes Tommy's mind at least a tiny bit. He read too much about possible complications, about injuries patients suffered because they wanted too much too soon. And as long as Lovett’s in the hospital, those consequences will be taken care of, immediately and competently. Losing this safety net is terrifying for Tommy. He only admits it to the therapist he's seeing, but he's afraid things might take a turn as soon as Lovett's released from the hospital. It helps a bit to be met with understanding.

*

"Maybe I should have at least let my mother stay," Lovett murmurs, looking over the stack of paper in his hands. "They told me I shouldn’t be on my own for at least seven weeks before evaluating that timeline again. Do you have any idea how expensive homecare is? I certainly didn't. Oh, blissful ignorance, I didn't even come to fully appreciate you before you were forever wiped from my life. Now I need to live with the dreadful knowledge of how expensive homecare is in the back of my head every time I do as much as go down the stairs. I could fall, after all!"

"You're being overdramatic, Lovett," Jon says without interrupting his self-given task of collecting all the well-wishes cards in Lovett's room. 

"I think I'm the appropriate amount of dramatic. Have you seen the prices?"

"Eh, as if we're not gonna be able to handle that on our own." Emily huffs. "With a bit of team effort, we're gonna get you right back on track when you get out of here."

Jon's face lights up. Tommy could have guessed that this is right up his alley. "Actually, that's a fantastic idea, Emily! We can take turns working from home, so there's always someone there during the day." He turns to Tommy. "And what about if you'd move in with Lovett for a while? You lived together before and that way Lovett won't have to hire someone for the nights."

The argument is sound, too sound to be disturbed by the rush of feelings in Tommy's chest. 

One the one hand he knows it's the best option, and an option he actually likes, considering he isn't sure how well he will deal with not knowing how Lovett is at all times of the day, again, all of a sudden. 

On the other hand... the separation pain won't be any less when he has to move home again after. He remembers how it felt the last time Lovett moved out. Sure, that was not only moving out of the shared apartment, the same city. It was kind of moving out of Tommy's life. It's not what would happen this time. Still, Tommy dreads the thought. 

Before he can sort his thoughts and say anything, Lovett starts, "I can simply not—"

"Shut up, Lovett," Emily interrupts him. "You can and you will. We'll get you back on stage before the year is over."

"You can't simply decide that."

"Sure I can."

Lovett looks kind of miserable but he doesn't try to argue further. 

Before they're able to make a final decision on what's about to happen after Lovett will be released tomorrow, a group of doctors and nurses come into the room.

For a second Tommy freezes before he remembers they're here for his final evaluation, not to bring some kind of awful news. 

They say their goodbyes to Lovett, at least for now, but before Tommy can leave, Lovett holds him back.

Tommy looks down to where Lovett's fingers close around his wrist. He swallows. It's not the first time, but it's still so unusual for Lovett to initiate any body contact. 

"I’ll be there in a minute," Tommy says to Emily and Jon, who are still hovering in the doorway. 

"Just one second," Lovett says to the medical staff before he focuses on Tommy again. He looks serious. 

So much so that the bad feeling in Tommy's stomach returns. Now Lovett will tell him that he was overbearing enough in the hospital and that he absolutely can't have Tommy stay over for even a day. It's entirely fair, not something Tommy should get hurt over. 

"Hey," Lovett says, "You don't have to do this, you know. Emily and Jon coming over every now and then, fine. But you have your own home, you don't need to— I can't ask something like that from you."

And suddenly Tommy realizes that this isn't Lovett telling him he doesn't want him to stay at his place. This is Lovett giving Tommy an out. An out Tommy doesn't want, despite everything that could make this more complicated than it already is. 

"It's not a problem," Tommy reassures him. "If you can stand the thought of living with me again, I'm there. My home won't go anywhere. And it's not like I would need to camp on your couch. We live in a time where you have a guest room instead of the couch you had when you first moved to LA."

"Oh, god," Lovett says laughing, "don't remind me of that old thing. I hated that couch."

"So did I. Which was why I didn't sleep on it." He has no idea why he brings it up, the two nights he and Lovett spent next to each other in Lovett's bed, only Pundit between them. Back then Tommy didn't think of it as a big deal. Lovett wasn't the first friend with whom he had shared a bed and most likely wouldn't be the last one. Right now, he's a bit less casual about it.

If any of that is apparent on his face Lovett doesn't mention it. Instead, he gives Tommy a smile, small and soft, and says, "Okay. Then we can try? If you want to?"

"I absolutely do."

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter and the epilogue are almost done, but for now, this has to do as closure. :D
> 
> Comments, kudos, and all other kinds of feedback are always appreciated! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/) / [fic post](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/post/188501808024/seven-stitches)


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